


Parenthood

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Endings [13]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: (or as domestic as a wandering assassin and ranger can be), Domestic Fluff, Gen, Gen Work, Kid Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Game, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:10:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The ranger slowly allowed himself to relax, gaze sweeping round the abandoned campsite with trained eyes before he looked towards the tent. The crying was growing quieter now, less frequent. Stepping carefully, he ducked inside to find the source. He wasn’t expecting it to be a tiny child, little more than a baby. The child grew quiet when it saw him, and the two stared at each other in mutual, wide-eyed surprise."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Or in which Theron and Zevran end up being fairly competent parents.

Theron was entirely focused on the hunt, ears straining for any sound up ahead from the trail he was following, or the birds that called from the tall grass around him. Any other sound was out of place, and the crying was doubly so. When the noise drifted towards the ranger on the wind that sighed through grass that would be chest-high on a human, at first he thought it might simply have been a fox or some other creature. He paused, turning his head to look for any sign of his quarry, but also keeping his ear in the direction he thought the sound had come from.

A few moments later, the cry came again, louder and more insistent. Whatever was making the sound would draw more than a warily curious ranger if it kept going. Theron looked down at the tracks he’d been laboriously following since noon, but then began to wade and push his way through the grass towards the noise. He could always come back.

When the ranger found himself stumbling across an unexpected clearing in the grass - a quick look showed that the grass had been cut down entirely, rather than pressed down - he was surprised to see the remains of what must have been a camp, as well as a body. The place had been ransacked, and there was the smell of ozone in the air that made his shoulders itch nervously with phantom pain. Magic had been cast here, and recently.

Theron looked around warily for any sign of traps, or an ambush lying in wait in the concealing grass around him, and he remained unmoving from the very edge of the clearing, ready to flee if necessary. The crying was louder, was definitely coming from somewhere nearby, but he ignored it as he gradually realised that there were no other sounds. Just the crying and the wind in the grass, the canvas of a half-collapsed tent fluttering in the breeze. No-one stifling a cough or the creak of metal and leather as weight was shifted from foot to foot in preparation for lunging out.

The ranger slowly allowed himself to relax, gaze sweeping round the abandoned campsite with trained eyes before he looked towards the tent. The crying was growing quieter now, less frequent. Stepping carefully, he ducked inside to find the source. He wasn’t expecting it to be a tiny child, little more than a baby. The child grew quiet when it saw him, and the two stared at each other in mutual, wide-eyed surprise.

Theron blinked, tearing his gaze away to look around at the possessions strewn around the tent, before he stepped back out into the small clearing to check the body he’d seen earlier. A woman. He sighed, wondering just what he was supposed to do, as he began scavenging what necessary supplies he could fit into his pack. It wasn’t as if this camp would be needing them anymore.

He could hardly leave the child here. It would starve quickly, or die of cold, or it’s cries and the smell of dead meat would draw curious wolves… But what would he and Zevran do with a child? Theron frowned, and went back into the tent. The child stared up at him tearfully, blond hair a tangled mess. He - or she, perhaps, couldn’t have been more than one or two winters old, if that. Theron shook his head. It had been a long time since he had been around children, let alone such young babies. He could only hazard a guess at the age. When did babies get their teeth, again? When did they start to walk and talk? Oh, it had been far too long since he was around infants. Young animals were his limit.

The Dalish elf rubbed at his forehead before he ran his hand over his braids, tugging distractedly at the ends as he tried to think. As kindhearted as it would be to take the child with him rather than leave it to die, what could he and Zevran do? They were still travelling, and suddenly introducing a baby into the mix probably wasn’t a good idea with their currently nomadic lifestyle. And there was no guaranteeing how Zevran would react, or whether he was any good with children. If Theron was to be honest with himself, given the former Crow’s upbringing he doubted it.

The ranger was startled out of his thoughts when the child began to cry again. No doubt it was terrified and cold. Was it hungry as well? He frowned in thought, and began searching the tent for food. If the child had been with it’s mother, there had to be some around. Unless it was still too young to be off it’s mothers milk…

Theron sighed in relief when he found what could only be the child’s food tucked away in a corner of the tent, milk-soaked unidentifiable mush. Cold, unsurprisingly, but it would do. The ranger looked over at the entrance of the tent, the ruined and now looted campsite beyond, before he sat down crosslegged next to the child.

“Hello, little one.” He murmured reassuringly, wondering if any of his ranger skills for calming wild animals would work on babies too.

It was only as he was coaxing the child into eating that Theron finally realised he was approaching the situation much as he would have done rejected or abandoned animal offspring, down to wondering about whether it was still dependant on it’s mother. He chuckled softly to himself. That could probably help him, even if it was in these beginning stages. Perhaps babies weren’t too different to animals? Feeding, socialisation, safety…

“Hm.” The black-haired elf huffed to himself as he looked down at the child he’d lifted into his lap to ensure it wouldn’t choke. He still didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl, but judging from the lack of pointed ears, horns or stumpy proportions it was a human baby.

When the child was done eating, Theron set it back down in the furs it had been lying on. He got to his feet, intending to go and find more of the baby food for the journey back - it seemed the hunt was abandoned for today. He wasn’t expecting the child to start crying again as soon as he let go of it, and the noise seemed louder, more grating now he was closer.

He tried to ignore it as he salvaged anything of use from inside the tent - mostly things that looked like they were to do with the infant. Occasionally he stopped to poke his head outside the tent and check the clearing was still deserted, that there were no predators creeping closer in search of an easy meal. To his relief, there was a raven curiously pecking at the body. If something came along, it’s loud alarm call would give him enough time to ready his bow.

When he was done and his pack was full, Theron was left with the slight dilemma of how to carry the child. Obviously it couldn't walk yet, so he would have to carry it. Carrying it in his arms or at his hip would work, unless he found himself in a situation where he needed to get his bow. Dropping the child like he would a kill wasn't an option. How had his clan dealt with this again? What had they used to carry the newborns when camp was broken?

They had used a kind of sling, he remembered as he picked the still crying baby up, trying to quiet it. A sling to be worn on the front, to keep the child close to a chest and to also keep hands free for weapons. It worked for men nearly as well as women. The only trouble was that he would have to make one, and there was no leather...

Theron realised he was staring blankly at the tent canvas, and grinned to himself. Better than nothing.

The child watched in what he hoped was wide-eyed fascination as he cut out sections of the canvas with his skinning knife and shaped them, crafting the makeshift sling. By the time he was finished and the sling was ready, the child had fallen asleep. Theron smiled to himself at the sight, quietly shrugging his weapons off so he could put the sling on under them, and then carefully placed the child in it.

The strange, warm and slightly drooling weight at his chest was entirely unfamiliar, but the black-haired elf knew he would have to get used to it. He gave the camp one last searching glance for anything of interest that he might have overlooked, before he stepped through the grass. This time he would head for home, rather than continue the hunt.

 

When he finally reached his and Zevran’s small camp an hour’s walk later, the sun was starting to fall to the horizon. The blond looked up from tending the campfire, his smile of greeting wavering when he first saw Theron had returned empty-handed from a hunt, and then when he noticed the bundle tied to his chest.

“I sense there is a story to this?” Zevran asked as he got to his feet and padded over silently for a closer look. Theron waited until the Antivan’s expression became one of shock. “A child?”

The ranger nodded.

“I think it’s still asleep.” Theron added, keeping his voice low as he stepped closer to the campfire and shrugged his weapons and pack off. How easy was it to wake a sleeping child?

Zevran frowned, and then quietly sat down beside him, eyeing the sleeping thing that was drooling on his leather chestpiece almost warily.

“And, please explain, how did you come by a _child_? I never thought you would be one for cradle-snatching. Is there some distressed farmer’s wife out there cursing the Dalish for spiriting away her youngest?”

Theron couldn’t help a huff of laughter, looking down when the child stirred at the sudden movement.

“No, you’ll be pleased to hear. But I found a half destroyed camp while on a trail, and the child was the only survivor. I could hardly leave it for the wolves.” He explained, and Zevran sighed.

“What are we to do with this? We have hardly discussed having children, because I never imagined that would be an issue with _us_.” The blond lamented, keeping his voice quiet for the child’s sake.

“And now we have one. I scavenged what supplies I could for the child.” Theron pointed out, nodding to his pack. “They should last… How often do babies need to eat?”

Zevran looked back at him, and laughed humorlessly.

“You see what I mean, yes? Neither of us know anything about how to raise children, bar your occasional animal husbandry.”

“Wouldn’t they be similar?” Theron pointed out, looking down at the baby.

“To a point. But this is a-” Zevran paused, and peered closely at the child. “Elven? Human?” Theron nodded in confirmation. “Human child. The similarities to a wolf pup or bird can only stretch so far.”

“What about if we take it with us? The next village we pass through will have a Chantry we can drop it off at.”

“It’s a child, not a bag of old clothes.”

“You know what I mean.” The ranger sighed. “Don’t Chantries take in orphans?”

Zevran nodded, and the two relaxed slightly at the knowledge they wouldn’t have to take care of the child for longer than necessary.

“So far we have been calling the child an it.” Zevran realised. “Are you saying you haven’t even checked whether you were carrying a boy or a girl?”

Theron blinked.

“That… Hadn’t occurred to me. I was more worried about getting it to stop crying and the possibility of wolves than what gender it was.” He admitted sheepishly as he drew the child out of the sling.

“You need to support it’s head more.” Zevran offered, which earned him a curious look.

“Like this?” Theron asked as he adjusted his hold to somewhat stiffly cradle the baby, and the blond nodded. “I get the sense you’ve been around babies for longer than I have.” The Dalish elf muttered. He hadn’t seen his clan in so many years, and even then he hadn’t been in extended contact with many dependant children very often.

“Whatever would give you that idea?” Zevran asked as he got to his feet to bring Theron’s pack over, no doubt to see what else he’d come back with.

“Just a hunch.” The ranger shrugged, setting the baby carefully in his lap to check whether it was a boy or a girl at last. “A little unexpected, given your history.”

Zevran smirked as he began to sort through the slightly unorthodox loot for two elven nomads.

“The life of an assassin is not that detached from humanity, you know.”

“It’s a girl.” Theron reported, looking over the child’s messy blonde hair, the softness to her features. She looked almost cute… No, if this child’s destiny was to be saved from the scavengers of the plains and raised in some well-meaning Chantry that was used to children and had knowledge about how to best care for them, there was no sense in getting needlessly attached.

“What about sleeping arrangements?” The Antivan asked. “I presume she will be sleeping in the tent with us, yes?”

“Of course.” Theron nodded, watching the blond examine the baby food. “Do you want to hold her?”

The question nearly made Zevran drop the food back into the pack, and he looked from the Dalish elf to the sleeping child in his lap and back.

“I… Think not. Not yet.” He replied evasively, even as he clenched his hands into loose fists. He’d never held a baby before - he was an assassin, had been since he knew how to hold a dagger and not cut his fingers on the sharp edge of a blade. That was nearly the opposite of his job, what he had been raised and trained to do. And babies looked so soft and fragile, far too delicate to be held by the likes of him. A man with poison and blood on his hands, his very being steeped in it. He should be nowhere near something as innocent as a child.

Theron frowned slightly, but nodded in acceptance.

“We shouldn’t have her for too long. We’re perhaps three day’s walk from the next village, and if not we could backtrack to the one we passed by yesterday.” He commented, looking down at the baby girl.

 

It took almost four days to reach the next village; being woken often by a crying child in the middle of the night was still something the two hadn’t gotten used to, same for the slight lack of sleep as a result, but they were learning quickly how to calm her down, and when she was hungry or demanding attention rather than needing to be changed.

Theron had carried the child for most of the journey, but once they reached the village he slowed to get the girl out of the sling.

“What are you doing?” Zevran asked.

“Can you go and give her to the Chantry? I need to go visit the tavern.” The ranger answered, and the blond frowned lightly. Still, it meant they would be rid of the baby quicker.

“Fine.” He answered reluctantly, taking the child and watching the Dalish elf head off. Now to find the Chantry in this little town. Zevran adjusted his hold as he walked, glancing down from time to time when the child made the odd babbling noise as she stared up at him with wide brown eyes.

Zevran spotted the Chantry relatively soon, and after trying and failing to remember the last time he’d stepped inside one to sing the Chant he was about to walk inside when a cooing sound made him stop. He looked over, realising that a young woman was staring at him - or, rather, the child in his arms. Hm, being ignored like that was not something he was used to.

The woman saw she’d been heard, and blushed even as she took it as an invitation to step over and strike up a conversation.

“She’s gorgeous.” She breathed as she smiled at the baby. What was it with women and young children?

“If you want her you can have her.” Zevran answered dryly, knowing it would be taken as a joke, perhaps one in slightly poor taste. The young lady laughed, and shook her head.

“No, I’ve got enough brothers and sisters to help my ma look after. Besides, she belongs with her father.”

The blond really should have expected some kind of comparison to be drawn between him and the child, but it still took him by surprise. The idea of anyone looking at him and thinking he could be a father was, to him, absurd. Something to be laughed heartily at over a drink in a warm tavern or equally warm bed with some form of company.

Of course, given his ways he no doubt had at least one or two bastard children across Antiva by now, but the idea of him actually settling down to raise a child in domestic bliss? No, he was ill-suited for that life and always had been. And now he and Theron were travelling, the idea of raising a child simply didn’t seem like it would be compatible. Their lifestyle had no room for some little baby that needed feeding and protecting. They had managed the journey to this village, but Zevran was unsure if they could manage longer than a month if they had decided to keep the baby.

He looked down at the weight in his arms, the way she stared back up at him. He could have sworn that she smiled as she reached up towards his face, tiny fingers stretching towards his nose, so delicate and yet so perfect. And Zevran felt the shift inside him as if it was something physical. Something in his chest tightened as he gazed down at the child, and he tightened his grip on her ever so slightly even as another poison-wielding and blood-soaked part of him watched in dismay.

“Perhaps she does.” He finally answered the woman, looking up towards the Chantry doors before he turned and strode back the way he’d came to find Theron.

He found the ranger in the tavern, bartering for supplies, and the look of surprise on his face when he finished and spotted Zevran still holding the girl was one the blond wished he could immortalise.

“Will the Chantry not take her?”

“Not exactly…” The Antivan replied, looking down at the girl.

“You’ve changed your mind?”

“Yes.” Zevran admitted slowly.

Theron looked at the girl as well, before he shook his head and led the way over to a table in a quiet corner.

“Are you sure? We can look after ourselves well enough, but-”

“A child is no different, surely?”

“This isn’t something we can walk away from easily.” The Dalish elf warned, leaning back in his seat and frowning at the child.

“I know.” Zevran sighed. “But I think we can manage, after the inevitable first couple of mistakes.”

The Dalish elf rolled his eyes, but nodded in acceptance.

“We can only try.” He agreed, looking at the baby. “But you do realise we’ll have to name her now?”


	2. Chapter 2

Five years later, and the messy-haired baby had grown into a girl that shrieked with laughter in the sunlight when it was safe, but was as quiet as an owl when told. Her blonde locks were plaited to keep them out of the way of her eyes as she ran on ahead down the track.

“I have wondered something about Flavia.” Zevran eventually spoke up as they watched her stop to pick flowers as they slowly caught up.

“Hm?” Theron prompted, looking over at the Antivan.

“What if she is a mage child?”

The ranger sighed. This was something they’d both worried about. How could two rogues - one of them skittish at best around the mention of magic - take care of a child growing into their magic? They could wake up one morning to find the camp in flames or half-frozen, and given how the Circle certainly wouldn’t be an option they could only flounder with what little they knew of magic already.

“Wouldn’t she have begun to show signs of it by now?” He answered as they drew closer to the girl.

“Possibly…” Zevran frowned to himself, clearly troubled by the idea.

“Don’t worry about it, _emma lath_. If it happens, it happens. But she seems to be a normal human child, as far as I can tell.”

The two were interrupted when Flavia came running back to them with a crushed handful of plant life that she held up to the Dalish elf.

“Father, what’s this?” She asked expectantly as she fell into step between the two elves, and Theron took the mangled plant to examine it closely.

“Elfroot, _da’assan_. It grows everywhere, like a weed.” He replied, pointing out the features as he continued. “The leaves can be boiled to make a tea for someone who’s sick, and the roots can be chewed to settle the stomach.” He explained, looking towards the roadside. “Be careful about which flowers you pick. Some might have thorns, or be poisonous.” He reminded her, knowing the times they’d had to stop in the past to pluck out thorns or treat rashes while comforting the overly curious child.

“Poisonous?” Flavia repeated, reaching out for the elfroot. Theron handed it back; he had enough of it in his pack, and with any luck having it in sight would help his explanation stick. Theron glanced at Zevran, who smirked. The former Crow was certainly more knowledgeable about poisons.

“Yes, poisons that can kill a man either quickly, or leave him rolling around in agony for _weeks_.” Zevran grinned as the girl stared up at him in fascination. “Some are so strong, you only need a pinch to kill an entire town. I remember when I once-”

“Zevran, what if you scare her?” Theron interrupted, and the other elf sighed in exaggerated defeat.

“I’m not scared.” Flavia insisted, squinting in the sunlight as she looked between them. Zevran smiled, before he scooped her up to carry her against his hip.

“ _S_ _í, chiquita_. Don’t be afraid of the deadlier arts, but be respectful instead, yes?” The Antivan replied, and Theron looked away to hide a smile of his own at the two of them. He felt Zevran’s eyes on him. “When we make camp for the night I’ll continue my rudely interrupted tale and show you some poison ingredients.” He promised in a stage whisper, making Flavia giggle. Theron looked back over, meeting Zevran’s gaze over the top of the child’s head, and he bit back a smirk with difficulty.

Then Flavia wriggled to get down, and she ran off ahead once more, still clutching the increasingly bedraggled scrap of elfroot as he dress fluttered in the breeze.

“You can tell her all your stories when she’s a little older.” Theron consoled the mockingly pouting blond, before he leaned across to quickly kiss Zevran on the cheek.

“I will hold you to that promise, _amor_.” Zevran replied.

“Although I am a little worried she finds poisons less scary than hunting.”

The blond laughed, loud enough for Flavia to look back at them in momentary alarm.

“There’s no doubt that you’re Dalish.” Zevran grinned, and Theron snorted.

They grew quiet again, admiring the sunshine and the road for a time as they steadily walked.

“You know, I don’t think she’s a ma-” Theron commented at length, looking around for Flavia and frowning in puzzlement when she was no longer ahead of them. “Where did she go?” He asked, but Zevran was already turning to look behind them, shoulders tense.

“Did you see her go off the path?” The Antivan queried, the question casual, too casual, as his eyes scanned the road they’d come down. Theron shook his head so his shoulder-length braids swung heavily, walking on ahead a few paces.

The unexpected “Boo!” from just behind him made the ranger start and reach for his bow, until he realised who the voice belonged to.

“Flavia!” He said, turning to see her grinning up at him.

“Did I scare you?” She asked hopefully, and Theron let out a deep sigh as Zevran caught up.

“You certainly worried your papa.” The former Crow replied, and he looked relieved.

“How did you do that, _da’assan_?” The black-haired elf asked curiously, and Flavia’s happy, excited expression faded into uncertainty. Clearly she was now expecting to be scolded. “I’m not mad.” Theron clarified. “I’m impressed.”

She smiled at that.

“From remembering what you do when you sneak up on the bad guys.” She admitted.

“Care to show us again?” The Dalish elf asked. Flavia nodded eagerly, and the rest of the day’s travel was interspersed with the two elves teaching her and offering advice on how to place her feet and move with minimal sound - aside from her delighted giggles.

 

Despite their life on the road, Theron and Zevran made sure to stay a day or two longer than they normally would when they reached a village or city, so Flavia could reacquaint herself with civilisation and make friends, even if they were nearly always temporary. It could be months before they returned to a town, if at all.

Currently, the two elves were browsing and haggling at the marketplace while Flavia ran around with other children who’d slipped away from their parents’ watchful eyes. So long as she didn’t lose sight of either parent or get into trouble, she was allowed to play as she wished.

Things were going well, until Theron happened to make eye contact with two women at a nearby stall. One of them sniffed audibly, and then turned away. The ranger sighed, about to dismiss the treatment he’d started to grow used to ever since he left the Brecilian Forest.

“Fucking knife-ears, they’re everywhere.”

Theron tensed, and Zevran noticed quickly.

“Theron, it’s not worth it.” The Antivan warned as the ranger glared at the two women, expression switching from resignation to a grim mask in a heartbeat.

“There are children here, _shem_. Watch your language.” The Dalish elf snapped at the two women, who seemed surprised at being confronted. Zevran was as well; he hadn’t expected Theron to say that, of all things. He felt a small hand tugging at his, and looked down to see Flavia. The former Crow sent a quick prayer to the Maker that the girl hadn’t heard the swearword or was about to ask him what it meant. She looked past him, to where Theron was standing tensely and glaring at the women as they wisely decided to leave the neighbouring market stall.

“Theron.” Zevran repeated calmly, dearly hoping the ranger wasn’t about to set a bad example for their daughter or cause a scene that would only reinforce the negative perception of elves.

The Dalish elf sighed heavily, before he turned back to the merchant he’d been bartering with.

“We’re done.” He said flatly, gathering the things he’d bought and handing over the money, despite how Zevran knew he could have gotten at least two more silvers off the whetstone with ease.

“Papa?” Flavia ventured from where she still was by his leg, watching the ranger disappear through the crowds without them.

“One moment, _chiquita_.” Zevran replied, letting her hold onto his hand as he quickly concluded his business with his merchant. When that was done, he picked her up and began to work his way through the crowds in the direction she quietly pointed him.

“Why did father get so mad?” She asked, and Zevran was quiet as he tried to figure out how to answer the question.

“Well, did you hear the rude words that lady used?” He asked. Flavia hesitated, before she nodded.

“Don’t repeat them, _mi tesoro_ , they’re not nice words. Not until you are much older, at least, and even then only when you are incredibly mad.”

Flavia nodded again, solemnly.

“But what does it mean?”

Zevran took an educated guess as to which word she meant.

“Other humans like those women, many are not as fond of we elves as we would like them to be. They call us names like that to make us sad - or in some cases, angry, like what happened with your father. So they have an excuse to use the names again when they see a reaction. You understand, yes?” He explained as he brushed a strand of the girl’s blonde hair behind one small, rounded ear.

“Why?”

“To explain that to you now would take a long time, I’m afraid.” Zevran admitted. “It shall be another story for the road.” He added. “But elves are not treated very nicely in… Nearly everywhere, if I must be honest.” Zevran chuckled dryly, adjusting his hold on Flavia. “And your father is particularly sensitive about that.”

“Is it because he’s a Dalish?”

“Yes. Now, let’s see if we cannot track down our wandering elf.” Zevran smiled, now they were out of the crowds of the marketplace setting Flavia down again and taking her hand as they tracked down their ranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had to have the papa/father thing, I'm sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

On what the two of them had decided was her seventh nameday, but was really the sixth year since Theron had rescued her from the campsite, Flavia was presented with a set of practice daggers as well as a small learner’s bow. She’d gained an interest in plants though no small effort from both Theron and Zevran’s teachings, and could tell true poisonous plants from ones that mimicked them. She often helped the ranger brewing safer concoctions, but for now more dangerous poisons were ones she could only watch being prepared from an arm’s length away.

“We don’t mind which one you end up favouring, or even if you end up switching between the two.” Theron explained as he handed the bow over in response to Flavia’s look of awe.

While she was teething, she’d often end up wandering over on unsteady legs and clinging to Theron’s leg while he practiced archery, staring every time he drew the bowstring back and chewing absently at whatever bundle of cloth provided to soothe the pain of her growing teeth. The Dalish elf couldn’t help but be reminded of his own faded memories of when he had once done that with his own mother.

Thankfully the roads weren’t so dangerous the longer they travelled, but whenever there was trouble Flavia had learnt early on to stay close to Theron, to run and hide if he told her. There had been a few worrying close calls when foes had idiotically tried to target the little girl, so now she was growing, it was certainly time for her to learn how to defend herself.

She stared in disbelief at the gifts, before pulling both of them into hugs of thanks. Training was frequent, alternating between weapons every week. Flavia proved to have quick reflexes, something that delighted Zevran to no end during their sparring practise - even if he had to be reminded to slow some of the more difficult moves down and endlessly repeat them. Zevran seemed ecstatic to have someone to pass his knowledge onto at last, answering any questions about dual-wielding daggers readily. Naturally, most of his usual sharp daggers were left out in favour of a pair he consistently neglected to sharpen completely, and poisons were out entirely. Theron was content to watch, or leave the two of them to it as he went hunting.

In comparison, Flavia’s aim was improving by very slow degrees. After the fifth arrow in a row where she missed hitting anywhere near the centre of the target, one day she set the bow down with a reverence she could only have picked up from Theron and frowned in frustration.

“I can’t do it.” She decided, glaring at the target and the few paltry arrows she’d managed to embed in it, the others lying buried in the dirt or lost in the undergrowth. Theron laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“No, you’re still learning, _da’assan_.” He replied soothingly.

“But you make it look so _easy_.”

“I’ve been raised with bows all my life. I’ve had years to practise, more than you’ve been alive. Even then I still make mistakes. Everyone does.”

The ranger’s words seemed to comfort the little blonde, because her frown lightened.

“Help me find the arrows?” She asked, and Theron nodded as they walked over to the target.

“If you keep practising, you’ll get better at it eventually.” The black-haired elf added, tugging the arrows out of the target with ease. “But if you don’t like archery you have your daggers.”

Flavia contemplated the knowledge.

“But then I wouldn’t be your _da’assan_.” She pointed out. Theron bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from smiling.

“You’d be my _da’mi_ , in that case, _emm’asha_.”

Flavia looked at him quizzically as she carefully brushed mud off a sharp arrowhead.

“What does that mean?”

“ _Da’mi_ or _emm’asha_?”

“Um… Both.”

“ _Da’mi_ means little blade. _Emm’asha,_ I’ve already told you. What does it mean?”

“My girl?” Flavia ventured uncertainly as she handed the arrows over.

“Yes.” Theron nodded, smiling warmly as they resumed archery practice again for the afternoon. He could only hope that Flavia would have the patience to keep practicing archery.

 

“You know, she is as curious as you were!” Zevran called over one evening a few weeks later as the Dalish elf skinned rabbits destined for the pot and the two blondes practised.

“She’s young, it happens to us all.” The ranger shot back, listening to the child question again about the best way to flank someone before the sounds of daggers meeting and flurries of rapid movement told him that Zevran was demonstrating. An Antivan curse that Zevran had refused to translate no matter how much the child asked, begged and pestered him told Theron that Zevran had lost, whether on purpose or not.

“Well done!” The ranger called, looking up and smiling proudly. Flavia beamed in the light of the campfire that reflected off her single plait of hair and made it shine.

“Alas, not all opponents will let their guard conveniently slip at the last second like that.” Zevran lamented as he wandered over to the campfire to help out with cooking. Flavia tucked her practise daggers away into the sheaths at her belt - her liking for dresses hadn’t lasted very long, something that both elves were quietly relieved about. Theron hoped she would also grow out of her squeamishness some day, although he knew it was a fairly vain hope right now.

Later that evening, when meals had been eaten and Flavia had gone to bed - she’d had her own tent for a few years now, and was beginning to quite adamantly defend her privacy - Theron and Zevran relaxed by the fire.

“You know, I think she’s taking after you more.” The Dalish elf admitted, and the blond looked up from where he rested his head against Theron’s shoulder, toying with the long, faintly grey-streaked braids that had spilled over the other shoulder to reach down towards his navel, weaving them between his fingers absently.

“Oh?”

“I think she’s more comfortable with daggers than a bow. And that’s nice, but I can’t think about her being in the thick of a fight without worrying.”

Zevran tutted in disapproval, and tugged sharply at a wiry braid like it was the rope of a Chantry bell. Theron winced, the pain clearing his mind in time to take in what Zevran said next.

“She’s only seven, and despite how I was raised I won’t be expecting her to go around fighting bandits tomorrow when she still isn’t strong enough to disarm me.” The Antivan pointed out dryly, shaking his head at the idea.

“I know that,” The Dalish elf replied. “but I was thinking about the time when she is, perhaps years from now.”

“Precisely! That will be _years_ from now, with any luck. She’s young, let her enjoy her training in a way I never could.”

“Sorry.” Theron murmured, and Zevran kissed him in response.

“Who knows, she may yet grow tired of daggers and her papa and want to go hunting with her father instead, no?” Zevran suggested, leaning forwards to prod at the fire with a stick. “Regardless of what happens, she will know how to fight and defend herself either way, and that is all I could wish for her.”

Theron relaxed, some of his fears eased.

“At least she’s not a mage.” The blond added softly, something that had been an unspoken relief between them as Flavia grew more interested in the way her adoptive parents fought and lived, and also showed no sign of innate magic. If she had been a mage, how could either of them have coped?

“Mm.” Theron huffed, closing his eyes against the fire’s warmth as Zevran began to kiss him a little more insistently, hands eventually roaming from the ranger’s braids down his body. “Care to join me in the tent, _lath_?” He asked when he pulled back, and the former Crow smirked.

“Shall I play hard to get?” Zevran purred in response as his hand crept even lower. “Let me think…”

 

Theron was sat quite conspicuously on a fallen tree that had created a small, elongated clearing in the middle of the stand of trees behind their campsite. If he looked up and squinted through the trees, he could see Zevran busy taking care of his equipment outside one of the tents.

The Dalish elf cleared his throat, looking around the rest of the clearing alertly. His ear strained to pick up any unusual sounds near him, or any figure that might have been trying to hide behind a tree. He couldn’t see anything, but he spoke up anyway.

“I can see you.” He called out, waiting to see if Flavia would fall for the trap this time. Judging from the lack of complaints and continuing silence, she’d learnt to not let her guard down for such a basic ruse and show herself. Excellent.

The quiet reigned for a few more minutes, until the sound of grass whispering against legs piqued his keen elven senses; he looked over one shoulder to see Flavia paused midstride, scowling down at the grass that had betrayed her.

“You got much closer this time.” The ranger offered consolingly.

“But it’s impossible to sneak up on you. You’re a _hunter_.” The girl replied forlornly.

“And an elf. Probably an unfair advantage to have, yes, but if you can sneak that close to me without me knowing, that means if you snuck up on an untrained elf or human, you’d probably be able to surprise them by getting the first attack in.” Theron commented as he got to his feet. Flavia hopped up onto the fallen tree, as agile as a forest cat, and walked along a few paces before she jumped down beside the Dalish elf.

“Good.” She nodded, smiling triumphantly.

“Very good.” He agreed. “You’re learning well, _da’assan_.” The ranger answered, Flavia falling into step beside him as they walked back the short distance through the trees to the camp. He looked over discreetly at the girl, his daughter. Sudden pride swelled in his chest, and Theron smiled to himself when he saw the bow and quiver firmly at her back, as well as the daggers and the tiny vials of poison belted to her hips. It would be her tenth nameday soon.

Theron found that hard to take in, that she would be ten years old. It hadn’t felt like nine years ago when he’d stepped into that tent and found a crying baby. The time had passed so quickly. He’d found it hard to believe that he’d ever have a child, especially when he'd found Zevran. He’d never expected that to happen, and yet here they were, the nigh-impossible had happened. And with any luck, it would stay that way.

He couldn’t feel more blessed than he did now.


End file.
